Don't Take This Story Siriusly
by TheNextFolchart
Summary: "It's a Harry Potter drinking game," Ron explained. "Every time you call attention to your scar, everyone in hearing range has to take a shot. You've done it three times since you walked in." / A Crackfic Collection featuring OOC-ness, broken fourth walls, and cringe-worthy puns.
1. Shot!

**Shot!**

* * *

It had been storming for almost half an hour when a dripping wet Harry Potter stormed through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor Common Room. "Well," Harry said angrily, throwing his broom down on the floor. "Quidditch was rained out. Looks like I can't put off that Potions essay any longer. And on top of that, my scar won't stop prickling."

Ron, who was sitting on the floor next to Hermione, bit back a smile. "Ah, that's rubbish, mate," he said in an overly-sympathetic voice that Harry didn't quite believe.

"Yeah," he said. "It is. I can't believe I'm worrying about stupid _Potions _when any number of Death Eaters could be out there right now! My scar's been hurting more and more lately, and - what is so _funny_?"

Hermione was trembling with pent-up laughter. "Oh," she said. "Nothing. Ron here just told me a joke earlier, and - "

"Stop lying to me!" Harry yelled, and the sound of his own voice made his head hurt even more. "Ah," he muttered, pressing his hand to his forehead. "My _scar._"

Ron finally burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, mate," he said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "It's not your fault - you didn't know."

"What didn't I know?"

"The drinking game," Hermione said, pulling a bottle of firewhiskey out from behind her back. "Ron and I started it, but it's spreading really quickly."

"What does a drinking game have to do with me?"

"It's a Harry Potter drinking game," Ron explained. "Every time you call attention to your scar, everyone in hearing range has to take a shot. You've done it three times since you walked in."

Harry stared at them. "There is a war going on outside our doorstep," he said slowly. "The Death Eaters are getting stronger every day. And you two are playing a _drinking game_?"

Hermione offered him the bottle. "You want to play?"

Instead of answering, Harry stomped up to his dormitory. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, shrugged, and toasted him three times in a row.

* * *

"Oi!" called Malfoy. "Potter! I heard you walked out of Quidditch practice yesterday!"

"Shove off, Malfoy," Harry said darkly. "It was storming outside, we couldn't play in those conditions. And my scar - "

"SHOT!" cried Crabbe and Goyle in unison. Grinning, Malfoy conjured up a bottle of mead and three shot glasses.

"Boys!" Professor Slughorn called from across the lawn. He hurried over to them. "What are you doing?" he asked, eyeing the shot glasses in the Slytherins' hands. "What's in that bottle?"

"Erm . . . " Malfoy said, looking guilty. "It's . . ."

"I know what it is," Slughorn said, flicking his wand to Summon the mead out of Malfoy's hand. "This stuff is not allowed."

"Hah," Harry said under his breath. "Busted."

But Slughorn wasn't finished. "The rules clearly state you must take a shot of _firewhiskey _every time Harry Potter mentions his scar. Here." He reached into his robes and extracted a large bottle of the appropriate liquid. "Bottoms up," he said, and Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle drained their glasses.

"Am I the only one worried about what's going on out there?" Harry shouted. "Am I the only one who understands what Voldemort is capable of?"

"He said You-Know-Who's name," Goyle pointed out. "That's _two _shots!"

Harry groaned and marched off to Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

* * *

"Harry, the time for you to face Voldemort is drawing near," Dumbledore said.

Harry sat on the headmaster's couch, one hand gently ruffling Fawkes' feathers. "I couldn't agree more, sir," he said. "My scar has been hurting more than - "

"SHOT!" cried every portrait lining the walls.

"Oh, dear," Dumbledore said, moving a hand up to hide his smile. "I apologize for them, Harry."

Harry sighed. "That's alright."

"You can't forgo your shot just because Potter's in the room, Albus," Phineas Nigellus said from the corner. "Drink up!"

Harry's jaw dropped. "_You're playing too?_" he whispered. "Sir! You're supposed to be a role model! You're supposed to be someone we can look up to! You're supposed to be a leader! And you're playing a bloody drinking game?"

Dumbledore looked quite embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Harry," he began, but Harry was already stalking out of his office.

* * *

"Harry Potter," Voldemort said with a slow grin. "The Boy Who Lived. Come to die."

Harry was trying his best not to seem weak in front of his adversary, but he couldn't help it: he clamped both hands down over his scar.

"SHOT!" shouted Bellatrix Lestrange, and the Death Eaters paused in their leering to conjure glasses and bottles.

Harry wanted to scream. "Do you people not understand what is going _on _here?" he shouted. "You work for bloody _Voldemort_, and yet you're taking breaks to - "

"DOUBLE SHOT!" shrieked Voldemort, downing two glasses of firewhiskey.

Harry closed his eyes. "I must be dreaming," he said to himself. "I'll wake up in the morning, and my scar - "

"SHOT!"

" - won't hurt anymore, or at least it'll hurt less, and this will all be a memory. Maybe when I wake up I won't even have a scar - "

"SHOT!"

" - at all. Maybe Voldemort - "

"TWO SHOTS!"

" - is just a dream, and my parents are alive and safe and nobody's trying to kill us, nobody's given me a scar at all."

"Shot!" But the shouting was less enthusiastic now, and a little more slurred, and Harry siezed the opportunity and kept talking.

"Oh, Voldemort," he said. "Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort."

"Six shots?" somebody called.

"No, no, no," another one said. "_Eight - _he said it _four _times."

"Are you sure?" a different Death Eater asked. "I heard - _hic _\- five."

"I'm going to throw up," announced Voldemort, and then he did, leaning over a bush to do so.

Harry grinned. "Wow, _Voldemort, _you're not looking so tough now. Very weak, I'd say. About as weak as a one-year-old baby with a scar."

"Four shots," someone announced glumly.

"I think it's just three."

"Stop drinking!" slurred Voldemort, stumbling into a tree. "He's using the game against us! Get him!"

But nobody could move with quite enough precision to catch him, and so Harry walked out of the Forbidden Forest unscathed, and when he brought the Ministry back later, they found a pile of snoring Death Eaters with Voldemort himself passed out on top. They brought everyone into Azkaban, where Voldemort was given the Dementor's Kiss and the rest of the Death Eaters were awarded life sentences.

And as a reward for saving the world, the Minister of Magic sent Harry an oversized, self-refilling bottle of firewhiskey, which he spent the rest of his days serving at dinner parties and then forcing his guests to drink by bringing up his scar in casual conversation.

* * *

_[Cinema Competition: Amelie - write a comedy in any sense (crackfic)]_

_[Fanfiction Categories Competition: drabble - Write about something unexpected.]_


	2. Mercury!

**Mercury!**

* * *

"I hate Astronomy," Harry groaned as they climbed the final steps up to the Astronomy Tower. "I can never focus late at night."

"Just drink a Pepper-Up Potion," suggested Hermione as she set up her telescope at her favorite stargazing station. She had her frizzy hair tied back from her face in a French braid; behind her, Malfoy was holding a pot of ink and trying to subtly dip the ends of her hair. "Or some coffee."

"I hate coffee," Ron offered unhelpfully. "Oi, Malfoy, get away from her."

"Settle down, class," Professor Sinistra said, coming to the center of the Astronomy Tower and clapping her hands. "Pull out your starcharts. We will be mapping the solar system tonight. Now, last week, some of you turned in starcharts with constellations included." She glanced at Hermione, who turned pink. "That will not be necessary. I want you to focus on the planets _only _for this lesson. Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, et cetera. The faster you finish, the faster you will be allowed to return to your dormitories for bed. So I suggest you stop _fooling around, Mr. Malfoy_" - Malfoy hastily pulled Hermione's hair out of the ink pot and hid it behind his back - "and get to work."

"That stupid annoying _jerk_," Hermione seethed, pulling her braid around to assess the damage. Nearly half of it was soaked in ink. "I'll get him back someday, I _swear_."

"If you want revenge, I know just the people you need to speak to," Ron said.

"Thank you, Ronald, but I am not asking the twins for help. I'll never live it down. I've got to do this on my own."

"Fine." Ron shrugged and leaned over his telescope. "But just so you know, they're better at this kind of thing than you are."

"Hang on," Harry said. One eye was jammed into his telescope, forcing his glasses to lie askew. "There's something wrong here."

"What is it, Harry?"

"It's Mercury. It's _missing_."

"From your starchart, you mean?" Hermione asked.

"No, from the _sky_."

"What?" Hermione positioned her telescope and took a look. "You're right! Harry, I - this doesn't make any sense." And she thrust her hand into the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Professor Sinistra asked.

"Professor, I don't see Mercury. It's not in its proper place in the sky."

"So it isn't, Miss Granger."

"But, Professor . . . what does that mean?"

"Maybe it's covered by a cloud," Ron suggested.

"No, there aren't any clouds tonight," Harry said, squinting into the telescope again.

"Maybe it's just not very bright tonight."

"I dunno, Ron, it's usually plenty bright."

"Maybe someone stole it."

"Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "How could someone _steal _Mercury?"

"Yes," Professor Sinistra said softly, pulling a tiny orb from the pocket of her robes. "How, indeed?"

"Professor?" Hermione leaned closer to see the orb. "Is that - is that _Mercury?_"

"Shrunken down to a fraction of its original size, yes," Professor Sinistra said lovingly.

"You - you stole a planet?"

"Haven't you ever wondered why _Sinistra_ sounds so similar to _sinister_?" Professor Sinistra snapped. "Of course I stole a planet! I'm a Death Eater!" She pulled up her sleeve to reveal a crudely-drawn Dark Mark.

"That's not a Dark Mark," Malfoy drawled. "My father has one, I would know."

"I'm working on earning a real one," Sinistra fired back. "I've been sleeping with the Dark Lord for months now, he'll give in soon for sure! Especially now that I'm going to bring him Mercury!"

"I'm confused," Harry said. "Why would the Death Eaters - "

"Not a Death Eater," Malfoy interjected.

" - want _Mercury_?"

"So we can gain control of Pigfarts, of course, and built an army of young wizards!" Sinistra threw back her head and laughed.

"Pigfarts?" Harry asked.

"It's an intergalactic wizardry school," Hermione explained. "Only it's not on Mercury, it's on _Mars._"

Sinistra stopped laughing. "It's on Mars?"

"Yes."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

Sinistra pulled a scrap of parchment out of her robes. "No, right here in my orders, it says, 'Take control of Pigfarts on planet M. and . . . _oh._"

"M for Mars," Harry said. "Not Mercury."

Sinistra looked crestfallen. "I suppose I've made a terrible mistake, then."

"Yes." Harry drew his wand. "_Expelliarmus!_"

Mercury flew out of Sinistra's hand. Harry reached up and caught it as if it were a Snitch. "_Engorgio_," he said, and the planet began to enlarge. He used a Banishing Charm to send it back to its position in the sky, and then made a quick note of it on his starchart. "Finished," he said, holding up his assignment. "I'm off to bed, finally. Night, everyone." He started for the stairs. "And Malfoy, stop dipping Hermione's hair in your ink."

Malfoy grinned sheepishly. "I can't help it," he said when Hermione turned to him, eyes flashing. "It's my immature, boyish way of flirting with you, because I'm too afraid of rejection, either from you or from the rest of my peers, to admit how I really feel!"

Hermione took the inkpot out of his hands and dumped it unceremoniously over his blonde head. "That was me admitting how _I _really feel," she said, following Harry down the stairs. Malfoy began to cry.

"Erm," Ron said, looking around nervously. "Is anyone going to do anything about Professor Sinistra?"

But just as he said it, Voldemort himself appeared at the top of the Tower and screamed, "_Avada Kedavra!_" at the teacher. "That's the punishment for impersonating a Death Eater," he snapped at her newly dead body. "Just because we were sexually involved doesn't change the fact that your application was rejected. You had no right to go around pretending to be my follower!"

He looked up and gasped as he noticed his audience of fifth-years for the first time. "Oh, hello, Draco," he said, waving to Malfoy. "I'd love to chat, but I've got more people to kill. See you next weekend at your father's Christmas banquet!" And he disappeared.

"Well," Ron said with a shrug. "I suppose there's no need to finish my starchart, then, if Sinistra's dead." And he ripped his assignment in half, stepped over the teacher's body, and joined his friends down below.

* * *

_[Crackfic Challenge: Randomitus - Mercury]_

_[100 Prompts: __"If you want revenge then I know just the people you need to speak too." "No, I am not asking the Weasley Twins for help. I'll never live it down." "Fine, but so you know, they're better at this than you are."; __"Stupid annoying jerk!"]_

_[Hook A Prompt: Row 1 - Harry Potter]_

_[Collect A Collection Competition: Ron Weasley (Weasley Family); Location Prompt: Astronomy Tower]_

_[12 Days of Christmas Style Challange: Three crack pairings - Sinistra/Voldemort, 1/3 ]_


	3. Potato!

**Potato!**

* * *

Cho was walking down to dinner and minding her own business when a potato came out of nowhere and hit her in the back of the head.

"What the _hell_?" She bent to pick up the potato, but it rolled away from her, squealing. "Marietta," she said, watching the potato maneuver itself all the way down the corridor and down a flight of stairs. "Did you _see _that?"

"Hmm?" Marietta was holding a large book in front of her face to hide the giant SNEAK written across her face in purple spots. "I didn't see anything."

"There was a potato," Cho said, wrinkling her forehead. "It was enchanted."

One floor below, she watched the potato grow a pair of spindly legs and begin to run down the corridor.

"Who would have done that?" Cho muttered, reaching back to adjust her ponytail.

"Cho Chang," a deep voice called from behind her. Cho turned. Marietta kept walking and, because she couldn't see where she was going, collided with a wall.

"Crabbe," Cho said, narrowing her eyes. "What do you want? Did you throw that potato at me?"

"No. But I know who did. Come with me."

Cho followed the Slytherin boy down to the dungeons. He pulled open the door to the Potions classroom - empty, because everyone else was at dinner - and led her inside. "Sit," he said.

"Is this some kind of prank?" Cho asked. "I have my wand. I'll hex you."

"It's no prank," Crabbe said. He lifted his head. "Come on out, everyone!"

About ten dozen potatoes on spindly legs emerged from the shadowy corners of the room.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Cho Chang!" squeaked a potato. It leaped onto her desk. "It's us!"

"It's who?"

"Your classmates!"

"What?"

"I'm Harry Potter!" The potato, who had grown spindly arms when she wasn't paying attention, pointed at its forehead. "Look!"

Sure enough, the potato bore a tiny lightning-shaped scar.

"How did you get turned into a potato?" Cho asked.

Potato Harry turned and beckoned to the potatoes on the ground. One by one, they all jumped up on her desk. "Miss Chang," squeaked a particularly diminutive one. "This is Professor Flitwick speaking."

"Er - hello, Professor."

"Somebody set off a charm at dinner," Flitwick explained. "One minute we were all eating potato salad, and the next, we were potatoes. The only ones unaffected are the people who came late. That's you, Miss Edgecombe, and Mr. Crabbe."

Cho turned to the only other human in the room. "Why were you late, Crabbe?" she asked suspiciously. "I've never known you to be late to an event with food involved. Did you pull this prank?"

He shook his head. "Got lost," he admitted. "It happens quite often."

"It really does," piped up a potato that must have been Goyle.

"Okay, okay, look," a pale potato said, and Cho was willing to bet it was Malfoy. "Crabbe's a dimwit, and Edgecombe won't take her face out of her book, so Chang's our only hope for getting back to normal."

"Me? I have no idea how to fix this."

"You don't have to fix it. You just have to find out who did it. We'll do the rest." Several of the potatoes began pounding their spindly fists against their opposite hands menacingly.

"Well, if it affected everyone eating the potato salad, maybe somebody put a potion in the food?" Cho suggested. "Is Professor Snape a potato?"

"Unfortunately," a potato drawled from the corner of the desk, "I am."

"Well, then someone else who had access to the food," Cho said desperately. "Who has access to the food?"

"The house-elves," two identical potatoes said simultaneously.

"Oh, but what house-elf would do such a thing?" Cho asked.

Potato Harry gasped. "_Kreacher._"

Cho stood. "Okay. Well, I'll just go have a chat with this Kreacher, and we'll get everything sorted out." She started to walk away, but a potato threw itself at her head. "Ow!" she cried. "Stop _doing _that!"

"Take me with you." It was Potato Malfoy.

"Why?"

"Kreacher has no reason to obey you. He belongs to Potter."

"So I'll bring Harry, then."

"But," Potato Malfoy continued, "his loyalties lie with the Blacks. I'm a Black by blood. He might be willing to listen to me. Potter will only anger him, and then he'll find a way to pull an even worse stunt later."

"It makes sense," Potato Snape drawled.

"I hate to admit it, but it does," added Potato Harry.

Cho sighed. "Okay." She bent down to pick up Potato Malfoy and set him on her shoulder. "To the kitchens, then."

* * *

Down in the kitchens, the house-elves were staging their own rebellion against Kreacher.

"Kreacher should not do things like this!" Dobby shouted. His tiny house-elf army had backed Kreacher into a corner, where he was laughing maniacally.

"Kreacher must punish himself!" cried Winky, brandishing a broken Butterbeer bottle.

Cho wove her way through the crowd of elves. "Kreacher!" Potato Malfoy yelled, jumping off Cho's shoulder and rolling up to the house-elf. "This is Draco Malfoy, and I order you to _stop._"

Kreacher stopped laughing. "Malfoy?" he repeated. "Kreacher takes orders from no Malfoy." He grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter and raised it over his head. "Who wants to become potato salad?" he asked with a grin.

Potato Malfoy screamed and ran back toward Cho. Kreacher followed, stabbing his knife into the floor repeatedly, barely missing Potato Malfoy every time.

Cho lifted him out of the way. "Honestly, Kreacher," she said, rolling her eyes. "_Accio _knife."

The knife flew out of Kreacher's grip. Cho caught it by the handle.

"Now, take this charm off," she ordered. "Right now. Send them all back to normal."

Kreacher let out a growl and Disapparated.

The house-elves all groaned.

"Where'd he go?" Cho asked.

"Kreacher could be anywhere," Dobby said. "Harry Potter ordered Kreacher to work at Hogwarts, yes, but Harry Potter did not say Kreacher had to work at Hogwarts _forever. _Now that Kreacher has technicaly worked at Hogwarts, he is free to leave. It is a loophole."

"Do any of you know how to reverse the potato spell?" she asked.

"No," squeaked Winky. "Only Kreacher."

Cho looked at the potato on her shoulder "I suppose you're stuck like this," she said. "Sorry. I'm so sorry."

Potato Malfoy looked up at her, eyes wide. "You saved my life," he whispered. "I could kiss you." And then he did, pressing his tiny potato mouth against her lips.

It tasted funny.

"Come on," she said as Potato Malfoy wound his spindly arms around her chin. "Let's go find Harry. He can order Kreacher to come back and fix everything, and then all of this will be over."

"You saved my life," Potato Malfoy repeated, and Cho sighed and let him kiss her again.

* * *

_[Crack!fic Challenge: Madness - Cho/Draco, potato]_

_[Disney Character Competition: Emperor Kuzco - write about Draco getting turned into something. Prompt: Problems]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: Three Crack Pairings - Cho/Potato!Draco, 2/3]_


	4. The LunaSnape Scene!

**The Luna/Snape Scene!**

* * *

"What are you doing, Miss Lovegood?" Snape drawled.

Luna looked down at the project in her lap. "Knitting."

"You're supposed to be working on your potion."

"I'm finished with my potion, Professor."

"Let me see," Snape drawled.

She lifted her cauldron to show him the bright pink love potion. "It's all finished, sir," she said.

"Hmm," Snape drawled. "Tell me which ingredients you added," he drawled again.

She ticked them off on her fingers. "Ashwinder eggs, rose thorn, peppermint, sage, Moonstone - "

"You used sage?" Snape interrupted in his drawling, drawling voice. "Sage is not on the ingredients list."

"No, but sage is said to make people wiser, so I thought I'd add it to make the potion a little less risky." Luna shrugged. "You know, because of what happened with You-Know-Who?"

Snape looked at the narrator. "Wait a minute," he said - or drawled, rather. "Is Luna supposed to know Tom Riddle was born because of a love potion?"

The narrator shrugged. "I don't know. Just go with it."

"Okay," Snape drawled, and then he resumed ignoring the fourth wall. "Sage is a good idea," he admitted - but even his admitting-voice sounded like a drawl. "Love is irresponsible. Love can be dangerous. Love can be forbidden." He licked his lips, and even _that _sounded like a drawl. "Forbidden love is the best kind, I think." He looked up at the narrator. "Okay, it sounds an awful lot like I'm about to profess my love to Luna Lovegood."

The narrator raised her eyebrows. "That's where this is heading, yes."

"But - no! That's totally disgusting!"

"Yes," Luna added. "Especially since he's still hung up on Harry's dead mum."

"How did you know that?" Snape looked back and forth between Luna and the narrator. "Is she supposed to know that yet?"

"I don't know." The narrator frowned. "What year is this taking place in?"

"That's kind of your call, I think," Snape drawled. "Why do I keep drawling? I have other tones of voice than just a drawl, you know."

"You clearly didn't plan this out very well," Luna added. "I mean, having a student brew a love potion? That's totally irresponsible. Ron Weasley almost died because of a love potion once."

"Technically that was Slughorn's fault," Snape drawled. "He offered Weasley poisoned mead."

"So if that's already happened, then this must be after sixth year," the narrator decided.

"It was my fifth year, actually," Luna said. "I'm a year younger than the Golden Trio, remember?"

"Crap. Okay. So it takes place after your fifth year. So . . . Is that the one with Umbridge?"

"No," Snape drawled, "it's the one where I'm Headmaster. Stop making me drawl!"

"If you're Headmaster, why are you teaching Potions?" the narrator asked.

"Beats me. The last time I taught Potions was in Order of the Phoenix."

The narrator began to wring her hands.

"Look," Luna said, "if it makes it easier, we can pretend the Ron-getting-poisoned thing didn't happen yet."

"Okay. Let's do that." The narrator wiped her brow. "Go ahead. Resume the scene, you two."

Snape leaned in close to Luna's face. "Forbidden love is my favorite kind," he whisper-drawled.

She swallowed. "Professor," she breathed. "I - I don't know if - "

"Shh," he drawled, putting a long finger against her lips. "Don't speak. Just let your emotions take over."

Luna's eyes flickered shut.

Snape leaned forward ever so slowly, his eyes fixed on her lips, and he -

"FUCK!" Snape cried, jumping backward. The cauldron tipped over and spilled its contents all over Luna's knitting.

The narrator threw her pen at the wall. "_What_?"

"I leaned on Lovegood's cauldron, and it's bloody _hot._"

"Oh, you've ruined my project," Luna cried as her yarn began to shrink. "Muggle knitting is so slow, it'll take me ages to fix it!"

"Okay, can we get a new cauldron and just fill it with water?" the narrator asked. "We can pretend it's a love potion."

"Why does there need to be a potion at all?" Colin Creevey asked from across the room. "If Snape's not even the Potions Master at this point in the timeline - "

"Shut up, Colin, you're supposed to be an extra in this scene," the narrator snapped. "And we agreed to ignore the timeline."

"My whole elbow is burned," Snape drawled. "And I didn't drawl that. I said it in a voice that _cracked with pain_."

"Look," Luna said to the narrator. "You're great at making up stories. You really are. But this one just isn't taking. I think we need to call it a day. Professor Snape needs to go to the Hospital Wing."

"Desperately," Snape drawled. "Oh, _give it up_, I'm not drawling anything and I'm not finishing this scene."

The narrator sighed. "Fine." She closed her laptop. "We'll try something different later. Take fifteen, everyone. Colin, start getting into character, I've got a romance to write featuring you and Gabrielle Delacour."

"Gabrielle is way younger than I am," Colin reminded the narrator.

"Only five years. That's not a huge difference, in the scheme of things."

"Right, but I die when I'm sixteen, remember? So even if we got together at the very end, she'd only be eleven. That right there is messed up, don't you think?"

The narrator began to massage her temples. "We'll make it work. Get into character. We're back in ten minutes."

* * *

_[Crack!fic Challenge: Insanity - Luna/Snape, knitting, sage (the herb)]_

_[Collect A Collection: Severus Snape (Order of the Phoenix Members), Prompt: Kiss]_

_[100 Prompts: "That right there was messed up."]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: Three Crack Pairings - Luna/Snape, 3/3]_


	5. I Wrote This Just For The Halibut

**I Wrote This Just For The Halibut**

* * *

Cho Chang was the most beautiful girl Blaise Zabini had ever seen.

He noticed her for the first time during the Sorting Ceremony. McGonagall called his name, and he came forward to be Sorted, and in the split second before the Hat fell over his eyes, he saw her and let out an honest-to-Merlin gasp.

"_Oh, you've seen Cho Chang, have you_?" the Hat muttered in his ear.

"Yeah," Blaise breathed, pushing the Hat back so he could look at her some more. "She's incredible."

"_She's pretty hot, right? And I've seen into her mind, she's totally dirty. So sexy. You should hit that._"

Blaise started to blush. "Dude," he whispered. "I'm eleven."

"_But someday you'll be older, and then it won't be gross anymore._ _Come on, what do you say? Ravenclaw with her?_"

"Yeah, okay!"

"_Great. You've gotta come back someday and tell me how she was._"

"Okay."

"_RAVENCLAW!_" the Hat cried, and Blaise practically ran down to sit next to Cho.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Marietta," Cho said that night when the Sorting was over. "That new boy, Blaise Zabini, was staring at you the whole time."

"At me?" Marietta giggled. "Are you sure he wasn't staring at you?"

"Positive. He was looking at you. Didn't you see how he ran to sit down next to you? He practically shoved me out of the way to get between us."

Marietta giggled again. "He's kind of cute."

"You should go for it. I talked to him a little, it sounds like he's a pureblood. He's going to have a lot of trouble with Muggle Studies. You should offer to tutor him!"

"Okay." Marietta's eyes sparkled. "I will."

* * *

"Hi, Blaise?"

Blaise looked up from his seat in the library. Standing before him was the ugliest chick he'd ever seen. "Yeah?"

The girl, who had chubby cheeks and a giant nose and scraggly hair and a double chin and giant glasses and all kinds of other ugly features, sat down next to him. "My name's Marietta Edgecombe. I think we sat together last night, but you were too shy to talk to me?"

"Er, sure?"

"I was just wondering if you needed help in Muggle Studies."

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm a first year. I don't take Muggle Studies."

"But you will, next year," she explained. "It's mandatory for all purebloods." She drew herself up. "I'm a half-blood. I know all about muggle things. I could give you a head start, if you want." She licked her lips, and even her tongue was ugly.

"I guess," Blaise said. From the corner of his eye he saw Cho walk into the library, and he straightened up. "Yeah, let's do Muggle Studies! Just for the halibut!"

Marietta threw back her head and cackled. "I love puns!" she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You are so, so, _so _funny."

"Yeah."

Cho was looking over at them. Blaise waved. She grinned and waved back, and then gave him a wink and a thumbs up.

_She so wants me._

"Okay, so here are some muggle fiction books," Marietta said, pulling out a stack of novels. "This one is really good, it's about a girl named Bella Swan and her vampire boyfriend. And this one is _really _good, it's about a girl named Anastasia Steele and a guy named Christian Grey and they fall in love and have a _ton _of sex." She waggled her eyebrows - or _unibrow_, now that Blaise thought about it.

"What's that one?" he asked, pointing at a book near the bottom of the stack.

"That one's boring. It's called Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone."

"Philosopher's Stone!" somebody corrected from the other side of the room.

"Hey, it's called Sorcerer's Stone in America," another random person piped up.

"We aren't _in _America, though, are we?"

"We could be. We don't know where Hogwarts is."

"It's in Scotland."

"But that's never said in canon, is it? We could technically be in America."

"We took a train to get here, genius. There aren't trains from King's Cross to America."

"It's a _magic _train. It does what it wants. _Duh_."

"You're an idiot, Crabbe."

"_Anyway_," Marietta said, pulling Blaise's attention back to her. "We won't bother reading the boring Harry Potter book. We're going to focus on the sexy book." She opened it to the first page and began to read aloud.

Cho walked out of the library with a boy. Blaise jumped up and ran after her.

"Cho!"

"Blaise?" Cho looked confused. The boy she was with gave her a peck on the lips and kept walking. "Aren't you on a study date with Marietta?"

He shook his head. "Study date? I - no?"

"Oh. It looked like things were getting steamy over there. That's why I left, to give you two some alone time."

"Alone time? Does - does Marietta _like _me?"

"Well, yeah. Don't you like her? You were staring at her all through your Sorting."

"I was staring at _you_," Blaise said.

"Oh." Cho turned pink. "I - I'm flattered. But I'm a lesbian."

"_What?_" Blaise's heart sank. "What about that boy you were just with?"

"Cedric? Cedric is my . . . he's gay. He's gay, and I'm gay, and we're both gay together, and please don't stare at me anymore, okay?" She gave him a tight smile and hurried off after Cedric.

"Sweetie?" Marietta called from the library door. "Sweetie, don't you want to come read the sexy book with me?" She puckered up her lips.

Blaise lost no time in finding the Sorting Hat.

"Put me in a different house," he begged. "Cho doesn't want me, and this psycho ugly chick does, and it's only my third day. I'm freaking out. I don't want this to escalate. Just switch me to Slytherin."

"_Okay,_" the Hat said. "_Go. You're a Slytherin now._"

"Thanks," Blaise said, and he went to the dungeons to join his new house, where he was welcomed without question because most of the Slytherins were too dumb to realize he hadn't been there all along.

And he spent the next seven years lying low, which is why his name was mentioned only 47 times in the entire Harry Potter series.

* * *

_[Crack!fic Challenge: Moonstruck - Blaise/Marietta, Muggle Fiction Books, "Just for the halibut," The Sorting Ceremony]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Blaise Zabini]_

_[Het Pairings Boot Camp: book]_


	6. Bad Dream

**Bad!Dreams**

* * *

Quirrell had started having strange dreams.

They weren't the ordinary kind of strange dreams, either. He was used to sharing the Dark Lord's nightmares (at least, Quirrell thought of them them as nightmares, but they were filled with gore and torture and screaming muggles, so maybe the Dark Lord considered them sweet dreams).

But sometime in the past month, Quirrell's dreams had shifted to a new topic: the Dark Lord himself. Last night he'd had three separate dreams about Lord Voldemort - one about the two of them ice skating on Christmas Eve, one that involved a bathrobe-clad Voldemort bringing Quirrell breakfast in bed, and one particularly elaborate one that culminated in Quirrell jumping out of Voldemort's birthday cake.

"My Lord?" Quirrell asked one morning after he'd awoken from a dream about giving Voldemort a foot massage. "Have you had any unusual dreams lately?"

"No," said Voldemort.

"Are you sure? Because it seems that I dream about whatever you're dreaming about, and - "

"Get dressed, Quirrell," the man on the back of his head said tiredly. "We have a long day ahead of us."

Quirrell didn't press the matter further. The two of them went about their daily business - teaching Defence, patrolling the forbidden third floor, sneaking food under Quirrell's turban when nobody was looking - and that night, when it was time to sleep, Quirrell forced himself to focus only on scary things.

_Cruciatus curses,_ he thought as he closed his eyes. _Screaming mudbloods. . . dark marks . . ._

_. . . the Dark Lord in a tutu . . . Quirrell in a hot tub while Voldemort prepared a pina colada . . . a Valentine's Day retreat for the two of them. . . ._

"Whoa!" Quirrell cried, sitting straight up.

"What?" Voldemort hissed.

"I was - you didn't have that dream?"

"No." But the answer came a little too quickly.

"Why are you dreaming about the two of us in romantic situations?" he asked suspiciously.

"Who says it's me?" Voldemort snapped. "Maybe you're the one dreaming it."

"Why would I be dreaming that?"

"I don't know, Quirrell, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Quirrell put his face in his hands and sighed. "The more I think about it, actually," he said quietly, "the more I realise . . . you're the closest thing to a friend I've had in a long time, my Lord."

"We aren't friends."

"At least you don't ignore me, though. At least you know I exist." Quirrell took a deep breath. "Is it so wrong that I appreciate you for that?"

The Dark Lord didn't say anything for a long moment. "I suppose not."

"And is it wrong that my unconscious mind is so glad I have a friend that it accidentally imagines us together romantically?"

"I suppose not."

"Good." Quirrell exhaled. "I suppose we should go back to sleep, then. I'll try not to have anymore dreams."

He laid down and closed his eyes.

"Quirrell?"

"Yes?"

"You can dream about us. If you want to." The Dark Lord swallowed audibly. "I don't really mind."

And both Quirrell and the man on the back of his head drifted off with slight smiles on their faces.

* * *

_[Quidditch League Truth or Dare Tag: Write about Quirrellmort (a la A Very Potter Musical)]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: 6 fics under 500 words (1/6)]_

_[Globetrotter Competition:__ Vilnius, Lithuania – Write about someone who is two-faced__]_


	7. Threesome!

**Threesome!**

* * *

For his birthday, Quirrell decided, he wanted Professor Sprout.

"Wait a second," Quirrell called to the narrator. "I wanted _whom_?"

"Professor Sprout," the narrator repeated, and the man fused to the back of Quirrell's head began to laugh. "What's so funny, Voldemort?" the narrator asked tiredly.

"He said _whom_," the Dark Lord said, grinning. "Who says _whom_?"

"_Whom_ says whom," corrected an extra.

"I don't think that's right," said the lighting designer.

"It doesn't matter!" the narrator yelled, clapping her hands to get everyone back on track. "Quirrell, pick up where you left off, please."

Quirrell cleared his throat. "Have you ever noticed," he said in a conspicuously loud voice, "that Pomona Sprout is beautiful?"

Voldemort burst out laughing again.

"What is it _now_?" the narrator asked.

"Sprout," he said. "She isn't beautiful. Why would you choose her for this?"

"Hey!" Professor Sprout, who was sitting just behind the narrator's director chair, stood and fixed Voldemort with a glare. "I'm plenty beautiful!" She pushed a hand through her frizzy gray hair and gave the room a toothy grin. "And at least I have a nose."

Voldemort sighed. "I'm tired of going through this," he said. "I do have a nose. It just doesn't look like your noses." He reached up (with Quirrell's hand, of course) to scratch the nose in question. "You people are impossible. You don't make fun of hair texture, or eye shape, but when it comes my nose suddenly the jokes are endless."

"Can we get this back on track?" the narrator asked. "Quirrell, continue the monologue about Sprout. Voldemort, don't say anything that isn't in the script. You have to act like you're into this."

"Into what, Sprout? You know she's old, right? You know _I'm _old, right?"

The narrator sighed. "Don't be difficult. Just do the threesome scene so I can move on and - "

"_Threesome?_"

"Yes, between you, Sprout, and Quirrell." The narrator shrugged. "I have to write a triad scene for a challenge I entered. I thought it was a cute little twist."

"Cute? " Quirrell said just as Voldemort repeated, "_Threesome?_"

"Didn't you even read the script before you signed on to this project?" asked Sprout.

"No," Quirrell and Voldemort answered in unison.

"Well, whose fault is that?"

"_Whom_'s fault," the prop designer corrected.

"That's definitely not right," Quirrell muttered.

The narrator clapped her hands again. "Come on, just suck it up and do the scene. It only has to be 750 words, and we've already wasted 412 of them arguing about this. Over halfway done."

Quirrell took a deep breath and slipped his actor!face into place. "What do you think of Professor Sprout?" he asked in an overdramatic voice.

"She's certainly feisty," Voldemort said in a monotone.

The narrator stood up. "Cut, cut. Voldemort, what was that voice?"

Voldemort shrugged Quirrell's shoulders.

"I need you to work with me, here, people. Just act like you're into it. _Please_. I don't want to write it any more than you want to act in it, I'm rubbish at sexy scenes, but the sooner it's over the sooner we can pretend it never happened." The narrator resumed her seat. "With feeling this time: action!"

"She's certainly feisty," Voldemort said in exactly the same voice, and the narrator sighed and let it go.

"What would you think about her being a birthday present?" Quirrell asked.

"Already done," Voldemort said. "I see your thoughts, Quirrell. I know you've wanted her for ages. I _imperiused _her last night, and she'll be here any minute to seduce you." He frowned. "That was really convenient," he said in his normal voice.

"Y'all wasted 602 of my words, forgive me for cutting some corners," the narrator snapped. "I can't even say 'you all' anymore, I have to take contractions wherever I can."

"_Whom_ever you can," the sound guy corrected.

The narrator turned to scowl at him. "_Waddiwasi_," she said, and even though she was a muggle and didn't technically have magic, a giant wad of gum stuck under a seat shot itself up the sound guy's nose. "Are we _done _with this whom thing?" she asked.

Everyone nodded.

"Good. Pick it up where you left off, then." She checked the word count and sighed. "We have like 50 words left. Use them well."

_Quirrell and Voldemort made love to Professor Sprout all night, and she never even realized she was in a threesome. For the rest of her life she would hold that night in a special place in her heart._

* * *

_[Relationship Bingo Board Challenge: A3 - Triad]_

_[Monthly Drabble a Thon: Waddiwasi]_


	8. The One Where Peeves Did Something

**The One Where Peeves Did Something**

* * *

When the stress of running Hogwarts becomes too much, sometimes Dumbledore draws the curtains and pulls out that sherry he gets mail-ordered from Rosmerta's.

"Cheers," he says to the portraits on the wall as he downs his first glass.

"Cheers," they all reply, except for Phineas Nigellus, who is loudly complaining that he hasn't had alcohol since 1925.

"Not our fault your portrait-maker didn't draw you with a tankard in your hand," Headmaster Dippet says, raising his own glass of sparkling champagne.

"I was dead, dolt," Phineas Nigellus says. "Couldn't exactly put in requests." He wanders into the frame of Headmistress Elizabeth Burke and swipes a bottle of mead from her table.

"Nice try," says Headmistress Burke, flicking her wand and summoning her mead back into her hand.

"Come on," Phineas Nigellus says, drawing his own wand. "You don't need all of it."

"If I'm going to deal with you all night, then yes, I do."

Dumbledore lets out an uncharacteristic giggle and begins to drink straight from the bottle.

"Wow," says Headmaster Everard from his portrait near the ceiling. "I haven't seen him like this in decades."

"What's happening out there that requires this much alcohol, Dumbledore?" asks Headmistress Eupraxia Mole as she sips from her own glass of sherry.

Dumbledore puts down his half-empty bottle and emits a hiccup. "It's Peeves," he says with a snigger. "Bloody poltergeist."

"Oooh," the portraits chorus.

"This'll be good," says Burke.

"Don't think I've ever heard you say 'bloody,' Albus," says Phineas Nigellus.

"What's Peeve's done?" asks Everard.

Dumbledore's giggling has gotten out of control. "He's - he's - "

"He's _what?_"

Dumbledore wipes his eyes. "He's enchanted the corridor swallow people!"

Silence from the portraits.

"Two people gone so far," Dumbledore says between peals of laughter. "I've no idea where it sends them."

"Erm." Everard scratches his head. "How is that funny, exactly?"

"Shouldn't you be trying to find the missing people instead of getting drunk in your office?" says Dippet. "This seems serious, Dumbledore."

"Where's Filch?" asks Burke. "Usually when Peeves gets up to mischief, he's storming your office."

At that, Dumbledore begins to laugh even harder. "Filch got swallowed," he manages.

Phineas Nigellus is the first to snicker.

"Oh, my," says Dippet, hiding a smirk behind his glass.

"Who's the second one?" asks Burke. "You said two have been swallowed. Who's the other one?"

Dumbledore begins to pound on his desk. "Peeves!"

Everard begins to openly laugh.

Dippet clears his throat. "So you mean to tell me . . . that you have no idea where Filch and Peeves are . . . but wherever they are, they're probably together?"

Dumbledore's glasses have slipped down his nose. "Together! The two people who make this job Hell on Earth are out of my beard, and they're trapped _with each other!_"

"They're the only ones who make this job Hell on Earth?" Dippet asks, eyebrows raised.

Dumbledore can barely put the words together. "I can handle the dementors at Hogwarts," he pants. "I can handle the Chamber of Secrets. But if I had to deal with one more complaint about a prank - " He trails off into giggles. "And now they're gone! Merlin knows where!"

"So this drinking is out of celebration, then?" says Phineas Nigellus.

Dumbledore is laughing too hard to answer.

"I think it is," says Burke with a smile. "Come here, Phineas. Let me pour you a drink."

* * *

_I'm too lazy to write it, but in case you were wondering: Peeves and Filch ended up in an underground room with no door, and the only way out was for them to kiss._

_[Quidditch Truth or Dare: Write about Dumbledore getting drunk.]_

_[2015 New Years' Resolution Challenge: Write a fic involving drug/alcohol use]_


	9. The Drapple Drabble

**The Drapple Drabble**

_(This isn't funny, but it's a crack pairing, so let's go.)_

* * *

_i._

The first time his father hits him is when he's five and he takes an apple without asking.

"Was that your apple, Draco?" his father says, and Draco, cheeks stuffed with fruit, grins sheepishly.

"No, Daddy."

His father opens his hand, palm facing upward. "Give it to me."

Draco shakes his head and hides the apple behind his back. "No, Daddy!" He's smiling, because he knows this game, this is a game he's played with his mummy before, this is a game of hide and seek, and if Daddy can't find the apple, then he, Draco, can win, and the apple will be his, all his—

_Thwack._

It's not the intensity of the pain, but the shock of the slap that makes tears well up in Draco's eyes.

"Give me the apple, Draco."

Draco does.

_ii._

His father hits him again when he's eight, because he asks about Hogwarts—Pansy Parkinson's older sister has just gotten her letter, and Draco wants to know when his letter will arrive.

"You aren't going to that filthy school."

"Why not?" Draco reaches for the bowl of apples Dobby has left on the kitchen counter.

"There are mudbloods there. You'll go to Durmstrang."

"Mother says Durmstrang is too strict." Draco bites into his apple and winces. One of his front teeth is loose, and the hardness of the fruit makes his gums throb.

"I went to Durmstrang."

"Yeah," Draco says, "and look how you turned out."

He sees the slap coming, and he flinches away from it, but his father's palm collides with his cheek anyway, and Draco's teeth grind together so hard that the loose one stings.

"Mother said it first!" Draco says, clenching his fist around his apple.

His father says nothing.

(Draco goes to Hogwarts.)

_iii._

The first mudblood Draco meets is Hermione Granger, and he thinks her eyes are quite pretty until he finds out what she is.

He lies in bed the first night after his Sorting and tosses an apple from the Great Hall into the air, over and over, and each time he catches it he imagines the _thwack _of fruit against skin is his father's palm.

_iv._

He's thirteen when he kisses Pansy Parkinson for the first time, and immediately afterwards he runs into Granger, and he rubs a thumb over the apple in his pocket as he tells her she's got dirt in her veins, and she hits him, and he doesn't know what else he expected.

He finds half-moon markings in the skin of his apple later, and he realizes he must have been digging in his fingernails.

_v._

He isn't sure why the Dark Mark won't take the first two times, but on the third try they get the tattoo to stick, and his father says words like _proud _and _celebrate_, and Draco finds himself craving an apple.

He can't eat, though. His first bite makes him vomit, and so he sets the apple on his desk and doesn't look at it again.

_vi._

When Voldemort is gone, Draco thinks a hundred times about sending her an owl.

He eats apples instead, eats them until he hates the taste, and he tries not to think about her pretty eyes.


End file.
